The Novel Experiment
by Cee5
Summary: Molly finds Sherlock reading one of her novels and, in spite of her embarrassment, little does she know that it has just given him an idea. Smut. Sherlolly


Molly put the paperwork down and sat upright on the bed, scratching her eyes. She knew that bringing paperwork home was not a good idea, and she worked long enough at the labs as it was. Still, it was not the soreness in her back that gave her a strange feeling. Something was off and she was trying to put her finger on it, unable to. Then, she realised what it was. The flat was quiet. Too quiet.

Living with Sherlock was almost like having a five year old around: if there was no noise, there was probably trouble. He was all about making experiments, crashing test tubes when things went a different way than he intended, and playing the violin furiously, sawing at the strings, when there was a tricky case that he couldn't solve. Making him go to bed at the same time as her had been Molly's biggest struggle, but in a way she had succeeded. Sometimes he was out, putting pieces together, finding clues. When he wasn't, he would lay down next to her, at least until she fell asleep, keeping her company.

After dinner they hadn't sat on the couch, as they usually did. Molly knew she would be busy with the paperwork and Sherlock had an unfinished experiment to attend to. So she had found refuge in the bedroom whilst Sherlock poured ill-scented mixtures and made noise, pacing from one side to the other of the living room, taking notes.

Molly got up and tidied up the papers she had been fidgeting with, placing them on the night-stand. Now that she had left her bed she felt cold, so she adjusted her nightgown, closing it over her chest. She paced slowly across the corridor and when she finally walked into the living room what she saw left her dumbfounded.

Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and the only one in the world was sprawled across the sofa, reading one of Molly's romance novels intently.

He turned his face to her when she stopped at the entrance of the living room, arms crossed, and he grinned.

"So this is the sort of things you like?"

He raised an eyebrow and Molly rolled her eyes, amused.

"Problem?"

Sherlock's witty expression changed to confusion. Then, he understood.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant," Molly had walked the distance that separated them and was now staring down at him next to the sofa. "I meant, is this the sort of things you like?"

He pointed at the book and Molly furrowed her eyebrow again, not knowing what he was trying to ask. She supported her weight by placing on knee on the couch, careful not to step on Sherlock, and then she peeked at the novel in Sherlock's hands.

She read carefully the page he was paying so much attention to and finally she understood his questions. The segment of the novel Sherlock was referring to was quite vivid and graphic. Sexually. Molly rolled her eyes and shook her head, and she was about to punch Sherlock in the arm in jest and go back to her room, but Sherlock grabbed her with his free hand and Molly fell on top of him, barely able to use her arms as a means of support to avoid hurting him. Sherlock kissed her neck and she giggled.

"You didn't answer me, Miss Molly Hooper," he noted.

Molly stared at him. They were so close; his freckles seemed even more prominent on the poorly lit room. God, she loved him.

"I am not sure what I am supposed to answer," she admitted.

Sherlock looked at her lasciviously and then he went back to the book, and raised an eyebrow, reading it, each word carefully pronounced.

"'She kneeled down on top of him, his legs stretched between hers, and she started removing his shirt button by button," he stopped reading and looked at Molly. "Go on then."

Molly, for what seemed like the tenth time that evening, frowned again.

"What?"

"You know what," he responded. "Scoot."

"Sherlock…"

He held her by her waist, making her kneel down and managed to put his legs between hers, stretched on the sofa.

"Come on," he pleaded, staring straight at her. "It will be fun. Promise."

Molly shook her head and covered her face with her hands, embarrassed. Sherlock was looking at her, anticipating, so with a shrug she decided to play the game. She hadn't read that book in ages, so she was uncertain of what came next.

Sherlock's voice became a whisper.

"'She started removing his shirt, button by button."

Every word was punctuated and Molly gazed upon him, lying underneath her, waiting. She kissed his neck and then started to undo his shirt.

"You're not supposed to kiss my neck," he said, in the same tone.

"Shut up," she warned.

"'She opened up his shirt and started to kiss his skin," Sherlock continued, observing Molly doing exactly what she was hearing. "Tracing his chest with her fingers. Her tongue… Oh," Sherlock sighed. "How did you know that came next?"

Molly smirked.

"It's not difficult to deduce," and she kissed his nipples again, licking and biting slightly.

Sherlock had stopped talking, going back to reading the book, this time silently and Molly, noticing he was taking long, looked up.

"What are you doing? Got tired?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"No, it's just describing his skin and whatnot. Okay, let's just skip this and focus on what matters. Go on," he continued, turning the page. "'She removed his shirt, feeling his strong muscles as she passed the fabric over his shoulders, and then kissed him on the neck."

"Are you enjoying?" Molly asked. The whole situation certainly made her want to laugh.

"Yeah, continue, I am just reading it, carry on," he incited.

She kissed his neck longingly, knowing exactly, even without guidance, the right spots to make Sherlock start panting. Which he did. The sentences were now broken up by Sherlock's heavy breathing.

"'She reached down for him and her hand found the bulge in his trousers-"

"Hum, strangely accurate," Molly said, as she followed the instructions, realising Sherlock was aroused.

Sherlock chuckled, trying to focus on the words in front of him.

"'When her hand entered in contact with his arousal, even over the fabric of his trousers, his right hand reached out to touch her, making way under her vest," Sherlock switched the book of hands.

"You don't have to be _that_ accurate, you know?" Molly advised, as Sherlock struggled to move the book around.

"I got it now," he said, continuing. "'And he undid her bra with agile fingers. He threw it to the floor and then he removed his hand from under her vest, licked his thumb and took it to her nipple, making light pressure."

He stared Molly straight in the eyes as he did so, and when his thumb found her nipple Molly moaned, still pleasuring him. She leaned over to kiss him.

"Not yet."

"Come on, Sherlock,"

"Come on, Molly, do this for me," he was pleading again and Molly closed her eyes, her nipple hard under Sherlock's thumb. She nodded.

"'She removed his trousers as he observed her, sliding them down his thighs and then taking them off completely. He took advantage of the position she was in and he kneeled down on the couch, now between her legs, kissing her slowly."

Sherlock was still holding the book but he made Molly sit down and then he kissed her. He kissed her for a long time, relishing on the taste of her tongue and the sound of her moans. He moved away a little and opened his eyes. Molly stared back at him before he went back to the book he was still holding.

"'He helped her lay back, kissing her skin here and there, and then he removed her vest and kissed her again: he bit her ears and neck, and then went down to her nipples. He licked, as she had licked his."

Sherlock was following the instructions carefully, looking back up at Molly, gauging her reactions.

"Oh, Sherlock, forget the bloody book," she moaned, but Sherlock ignored her. He managed to read the next lines and with fast movements they were now both naked in front of each other, all after a confusion of clothes, members, and folded pages. Whilst removing her pants Sherlock noticed how wet Molly felt against his fingers.

"'He made his way down her body, kissing every bit of exposed skin. She moved her foot and carefully found his…."

Sherlock stopped abruptly, staring at the printed word.

"What is it?" Molly asked, startled by his sudden break.

Sherlock moved his head from side to side. Molly removed the book from his hands.

"Give it here!" she demanded.

As she read what was coming next, the forbidden word, she laughed.

"Prick," Molly said and Sherlock flinched, which made her chuckle again. "'Carefully found his prick, and she rubbed her foot against it with soft motions, while he continued to run his lips over her body.'"

Molly was doing exactly what the book was telling her to, but Sherlock was still relishing on the feeling of her foot against his member, biting his lip.

"Come on, Casanova, do your bit," she demanded.

A mischievous look crossed his face and he grinned. Then he started to kiss her skin again. It was Molly's turn to continue.

"'He got quickly where she expected him to. He kissed her lower lips and then his tongue circled her clitoris."

Sherlock looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Let's see if I can find it."

At this Molly laughed out loud but the laughter was quickly substituted by a low moan as Sherlock followed the narrative. He knew pretty well what he was doing.

Molly was writhing underneath him. She let go of the book which fell to the floor with a thump and grabbed Sherlock's curls, guiding him to all the right places. Sherlock allowed this little deviation of the story, pleased to please her.

Surreptitiously, and whilst still working on her, Sherlock picked the book up. Then he stopped licking her, and kissed her belly, then her breasts. Molly was panting under him, wishing nothing else but for him to continue. Sherlock began to read again, just a whisper.

"'When she was ready to receive hi-"

But Molly removed the book from his hands, breathing fast, and pulled him close, kissing him passionately, her hand grabbing his cock and working on it, up and down. Sherlock didn't bother refraining her urgency in having him closer because, in all honestly, it mirrored his. He held her tight against his naked skin and he slid inside her slowly, in a single movement. Molly stopped kissing him, moaning loudly, starting to move rhythmically underneath him. She was so close from coming already. Her nails dig into his skin at each new intake and Sherlock was talking in her ear, telling her how good she was and how good it felt.

Sherlock sensed as Molly convulsed against his skin once and again, hands on his shoulders now as if in need of support and then he groaned as well, coming inside her, the feeling taking over him, making his whole body quiver.

For a moment they laid there, breathing against each other, hearts beating rapidly.

"I have no idea what possessed you to read one of my novels," Molly said once she was able to catch her breath. "But please continue."

Sherlock laughed and then he lifted his head, gazing at her. With his right hand he stroked her hair, love spread all over his face.

"Deal," he said.

The following day Molly was watching TV when Sherlock walked in through the door, a big box in his hands. He let it fall to the floor and then pointed at it. He picked a book at random, looking at the suggestive cover and showing it to Molly.

"Shall we?"

Molly turned off the TV. She was all ears.


End file.
